


Borrowing Baby Watson

by Pulchratibi



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Engagement, F/M, Pregnancy, SO MUCH FLUFF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 08:54:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2845250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pulchratibi/pseuds/Pulchratibi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amy Watson has been given a big job: to help Uncle Sherlock with Aunt Molly's present.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Borrowing Baby Watson

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Liathwen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liathwen/gifts).



> Unbeta'd, be kind :)
> 
> Happy xmas fluff for Liathwen <3

The shrieking, giddy four-year-old person that was Amy Watson spun in circles, trying (and, surprisingly, succeeding) to not topple onto the tree in the living room of 221B Baker St. "Aunt Molly! Uncle Therluck thaid I can give you your prethent!"

"Ok, sweetie. But you have to stop spinning and find it, first!" Molly steadied the girl, and helped her start her search. "Did he say what color it is?"

"Yellow? I think he thaid yellow" From across the room, the man in question nodded reassuringly at the inquiring child.

"All right. And what shape is it?" Molly's eyes looked between Amy and Sherlock, enjoying the game they had made for her.

"Uhm...big?" Her arms stretched wide, measuring what she expected to see.

"Nope! Remember? We talked about shapes this morning. Shapes are what something looks like, not how big or little it is." Sherlock left the couch and strode over to the little girl, picking her up quickly and causing her to giggle. "What shapes did we learn today?"

"Exangle. And thircle!"

"Well done!" A kiss on her forehead was his goddaughter's reward. "Do you remember the shape of Aunt Molly's present?"

"Thircle."

"Try again," Sherlock coached, knowing full well that these were very big words for such a small mouth.

"I sense a large, yellow rectangle in my future," Molly said, winking at Amy playfully as she went to take her from her boyfriend.

Amy beamed, unable to contain her excitement. "Uncle Therluck made it and I helped! I got to uthe my paint!"

"How grown up of you! Now, where should I look for a present, do you think?"

"The tree! Prethenth are under the tree!"

"Can you find a big yellow rectangle under the tree? If you do, bring it to me so I can read the tag. I wouldn't want to open anyone else's present my mistake."

 

The toddler squirmed out of Molly's arms and started to dig through the piles of presents surrounding the seasonal centerpiece of the living room. She saw a large, orange package and grabbed at it. "Thith one?"

"Hmm. That looks orange, not yellow. What do you think, Sherlock?"

"Definitely orange. Keep looking."

A manilla envelope was among the presents, and she reached for that next. "Thith?"

"Is it yellow?"

"Yeth."

"Is it big?"

Amy's blue eyes squinted at the folder in her small hands, then looked at the other packages nearby. "Bigger than thome things I thee."

Sherlock nodded. "Fair enough. And what shape is it?"

"Exangle!"

"Well, then, I think that just might be Aunt Molly's present! Can you give it to her?" Molly sat down on the floor and reached both arms out to receive the small child and the contents of her hands. After a quick hug, she took the envelope and confirmed herself as the recipient; Sherlock's elegant scrawling of her name on the outside was unmistakable.

 

"How did you use your paints, if this is supposed to be from Uncle Sherlock?" Amy had repositioned herself in front of Sherlock, attempting to balance on his shoes. He held her small hands while they both watched Molly turn the envelope over.

"Oh, do retain some sense of the game, Molly. Open it and find out," he huffed, eyes rolling. Molly just smiled in response, and gently pried open the seal. While tipping it to the side to ease out the contents, a flurry of glitter escaped onto her lap. "Ah, yes, sorry. Should have warned you. Artistic vision is hard to contain when one is so small." Molly laughed at the shiny flecks of gold and silver, happy to know that there was at least one other woman in Sherlock's life who could influence him in such simple ways. This also explained the recent discovery of a decidedly toddler-placed, shimmery outline of a hand on the fridge door.  

 

"I can already tell that it will be beautiful." A startled 'oof' caused her to look up; Amy was excitedly jumping on her pedestals now, unaware of the consequences of her actions. Molly was pleased to see Sherlock just rearrange his feet, and keep a hold of tiny fingers.

The only item she could see in her package was a piece of paper, now be-glittered, and carefully covered with what appeared to be watercolors. She removed the artwork, appreciating that every inch of the paper had been painted with a multitude of swirling colors. "Both sides? How thorough! It's beautiful, sweetheart!" Amy ran to give another hug to a curious Molly.

 

What took a moment longer to register, though, were the messages written under the paints in white crayon, one on each side: "Will you?"and "I will."

 

Molly's jaw went slack before she quickly closed it, raising questioning (and, she noted, suddenly very wet) eyes to Sherlock's still standing form.

"I think it's about time, don't you?"

"I-I don't...what are you saying, Sherlock? Time for what?"

He fell to his knees and sat on his heels, taking her hands in his. "Anything-- everything! I have spent so many years wasting my life, and then yours, just trying to avoid the happiness I think I always knew you could provide me. Please, please, say that I'm done making you wait for me. Say that you'll have me forever, or as long as you can stand me. Say that we can have a family. Say that we won't have to keep borrowing our goddaughter just to get small, beautiful, colorfulhandprints on the fridge. Say that you will never stop being by my side. Please." He hadn't noticed the waver that had crept into his voice, or the tremor she soothed with her hands.

 

He also hadn't noticed the small party of onlookers gathered by the entryway. John and Mary had been let in by Mrs. Hudson, it appeared, and were trying to silently beckon their daughter to them during this uncharacteristic outpouring of emotion.

Molly moved his hands to her waist and let out the tears she had valiantly held in during his profession. She climbed into his lap and cried into his neck as he wrapped his arms around her to comfort her.

The sniffing at the doorway was what caused him to take stock of his living room. If he was taken aback by his unexpected audience, however, he didn't show it. "Have I said something wrong?" he mouthed, confused and a bit more than worried. A synchronised head shake was his response, and matching smiles graced the Watsons' faces.

 

"Oh, Sherlock, yes!"

Molly had calmed down enough to form words again, it seemed, and Amy still stood next to them, eyebrows knit, looking at the couple, then to her parents. "Mummy, did Aunt Molly not like the picthure?"

"Oh, no, darling, I think she liked it very much. Come here, love," she whispered. After she lifted her little girl, she did her best to explain. "You know how sometimes, after a very exciting day, you sometimes get sleepy?" The girl nodded. "And sometimes when you are very tired, you have a bit of a cry until mummy or daddy can help you get to sleep?" Another nod and a snuggle followed. "I think Aunt Molly has had one of the most exciting days ever, and maybe Uncle Sherlock needs to help her get some sleep. What do you think, eh?"

"Maketh thenthe." She snuck two fingers into her mouth and reached for John. He took her and turned to go down the stairs, leaving Mary to pull the door closed until the soft 'click' of the lock signalled its security.

 

Meanwhile, Sherlock had kept his arms around Molly, running his hands up and down her back soothingly. "Is everything alright, Molly? I think I lost you for a moment, there."

"Oh, no, you will _never_ lose me. I think you've just made rather sure of that," she replied. Molly clambered off of his lap rather ungracefully, returning to the floor next to the tree.

“Can I ask what brought on the dramatic reaction? You had to have known this was coming.”

“Well, yes,” she sniffed, and hastily wiped the back of her hand across her eyes, drying residual tears. Her smile was radiant, and her eyes crinkled with mirth. “It was just sudden, is all. But nevermind that. You haven’t opened any of your presents yet.”

Molly spun around and began rummaging through the gifts that had been upended in Amy's prior search, looking carefully for the one she had put together the night before.

"I don't need anything, I told you that. I thought all of these were just for the others? Besides, I've just gotten the best gift I could ever want. I hope, anyway-- you _did_ say yes, didn't you?"

"I did. I most definitely did. And not to spoil your fun, but I think I get the better end of the deal." She presented him with a similar yellow envelope, smiling wider than she had earlier. He snatched it from her hands, shaking his head.

"We agreed, Molly. I know very little of what defines 'us' is conventional, but we _discussed_ this. We want to get married, _I_ must propose. But great minds think alike, I suppose. Same envelope and everything!" He turned the thick paper over and began to open it. "Did you get Amy in on your proposal as well?" He tried to hide his smile and failed, laughing as he ripped into his 'present.'

"Oh, no. That would spoil the fun, I think." Sherlock gaped at her, clearly offended that she thought so little of his creativity, and dumped the paper inside onto the floor indignantly. He huffed as he picked it up, glanced down, and promptly dropped it again. The present was most definitely not a proposal; it was a very blurry black and white image.

 

"You said you wanted a different source of glittery handprints in the flat. I am, apparently, just _that_ proactive," she laughed nervously, biting her lip. Sherlock stood, helped Molly to her feet, and promptly held her tighter than he thought possible.

"I did. And I meant it. God, how I meant it. _Thank you_." He proceeded to swing her around the flat for a good while, stopping only for stolen kisses and to press joined hands gently against Molly's still-flat abdomen.

 

~~~~~

 

They would debate for many years who had had the better Christmas, each insisting that they had won for best gift gotten. However, they would always agree that each subsequent year with their small family was better than the last.

 

 


End file.
